


he's a boy, she' cinderella

by notanannoyingfangirl



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4534680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanannoyingfangirl/pseuds/notanannoyingfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is the princess of Arcadia, but despite her wishes to avoid an arranged marriage and rule her kingdom by herself, Clarke's mother insists on throwing a masquerade ball with the goal of finding her daughter a husband. And, okay, maybe there is one guy who makes her heart skip a beat or two. Clarke just never expected to fall for Bellamy Blake, a member of the guard (and definitely not a choice her mother would approve of).</p>
            </blockquote>





	he's a boy, she' cinderella

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hey guys, so this is the first ever bellarke fanfiction that I’ve written, so I hope that you like it!

Clarke tugged on her sleeves nervously, as princess of the kingdom of Arcadia she should know better than to allow others to know just  _how_  nervous she was, but Clarke couldn't find it in herself to care.

The ball gown was impressive, swirls of soft blues and silvers meant to represent the ocean or perhaps a stream. It was also, however, very uncomfortable and her corset was making it slightly hard to breathe. This was a dance Clarke had done to many times, stuffing her feet into tiny heels, dressing in her finest (or newest) dress, decking herself in jewelry worth more than most people could dream of. It didn't mean that she was particularly fond of any of it, Clarke was more of the type of girl to wear pants and riding boots. She was far more prone to reading than indulging the other ladies in their gossip.

She wasn't a very good princess.  

She tried, of course she did. Clarke gave everything she had into learning how to be a good leader, how to make the best decisions for her people. But this, the diplomacy, pleasing the nobles, throwing endless parties and dancing with men who would step on your toes and marry you for the crown in seconds, was out of Clarke's league. If it were up to her she would never marry any of the men at court, she could be a good queen without a king. Maybe.

Her mother glared at her while Clarke fidgeted. She hated being fitted for these dresses, standing and letting other people poke at you with needles, while they tried to make everything just right. Actually, she hated being fitted for these dresses because it meant a ball was coming up. Clarke hated those more than anything.

As if her mother could sense her thoughts, Abigail spoke up suddenly. "You know, Clarke," she started, in the tone of voice that meant Clarke was not going to like what she had to say, "you're almost eighteen."

"Yes, mother," Clarke replied dutifully, trying not to sound sarcastic, "I know how old I am."

"Most girls your age have already been married, in fact, your father and I were just talking about when you might be getting married."

Clarke drew in a sharp breath, she did not like the turn of this conversation. She knew that most girls her age were married, but most times Clarke still felt like a child. Besides there was hardly anyone at court that she would want to marry.

"In fact, we were hoping that you might even meet your future husband at the masquerade ball next month," Abigail finished. Clarke was smart enough to read between the lines. If she didn't pick a husband at this ball, then her mother would pick one for her.

Instead of crying, like she wanted (though princesses must never cry), Clark forced herself to smile, "that sounds lovely, mother."

Her mother looked relieved, as if she had been expecting Clarke to fight back. Clarke hated herself for not standing up to her mother, but she would rather pick her own husband than have one chosen for her.

At least this way, it wouldn't be too horrible.

\--

"Hey, Princess!" a voice called out, making Clarke draw up short. However, instead of princess sounding like her title, whoever was calling after her made it sound like an insult.

Clarke turned, already knowing who she would be facing. Blake was a young knight who had somehow ended up with guard duty around the castle. She was almost positive that he had made it his mission to make her life a living hell.

"Is there something you need?" Clarke asked, attempting to be civil despite how much she really did  _not_ want to have this conversation.

After the conversation with her mother about the ball a few days ago, Clarke's head had been spinning about who at court would be least horrific to wed. Finn Collins would have been her first choice but he had married a girl named Raven a couple of months ago. Her parents wanted her to marry Wells, but he was one of her closest (and only) friends. It would just be weird.

Blake grinned at her, and yes, Clarke would admit that he was attractive, especially when he smiled, but it was easy to overlook that since he acted like an ass so much of the time. "Can't I just want to talk to the princess without having any ulterior motives?" he asked, fake hurt dripping from his voice.

"No," Clarke said stiffly, smoothing none existent wrinkles from her forest green dress.

"Right," Blake said softly, suddenly becoming very interested in his hands, "you know what, it was stupid anyway. Forget it."

"No, Blake, wait," Clarke said, reaching out to grab his arm before he could pull away. "What did you need?"

"Well there's that ball coming up, and it's invitation only," he said hurriedly, as if he couldn't wait to get all of the words out at once, "and I was wondering if maybe I could get an invitation for my little sister."

Clarke felt a smile slip onto her face, that was the first thing Blake had said that didn't make her want to punch him in the face. In fact, it was kind of... sweet. Suddenly she felt bad for being so rude to him.

"Of course," Clarke said, and Blake looked relieved, "I would love for her to come."

"Thanks, Princess," he said, and for the first time Clarke wondered if it was a term of endearment rather than an insult.

Blake turned and walked away but not before calling over his shoulder, "I have a first name by the way, it's Bellamy."

Clarke wasn't sure why that made her blush.

\--

Somehow talking to Blake - no, Bellamy - had become a bit of an everyday thing. Not that it hadn’t been before, but it was different now. Sure, he still frustrated her to no end, but their verbal sparring didn’t seem quite so harsh. His insults lacked bite, she said hers with a grin.

It was kind of nice.

Clarke had never really had a friend before, other than Wells that is. Bellamy was a lot different than Wells, and Clarke saw herself reflected in Bellamy’s brown eyes. He was a lot nicer than she had originally given him credit for, as well. He seemed to really care about his younger sister, Octavia, and anytime he talked about her the pride was obvious in his voice. Clarke liked hearing his stories about her, and she wondered sometimes if he had told Octavia stories about Clarke. But that was foolish.

Time seemed to fly quicker than she wanted it to, and before she knew it, the ball was just days away.

She still hadn’t decided who at court would be the least offensive to marry.

Bellamy was standing outside of her room when she finally left, she had been going to the library to catch what might be her last bit of peace for the next few days, but she stopped when she saw him. Bellamy had been her guard more often than not lately, and Clarke wondered if he requested the job as her bodyguard or if it was just pure luck.

"Hey, Princess," he said with a smirk.

Clarke laughed, the nickname didn't bother her like it used to. He didn't say it like it burned his tongue, it wasn't an insult any longer. "I have a first name, you know," she said with a teasing grin, "it's Clarke."

"I know," Bellamy replied, "but Princess just seems to suit you better."

Clarke struggled to keep a grin off her face. Sometimes she forgot just how attractive Bellamy Blake actually was. His dark hair fell in a messy flip over his forehead that most girls would love to run their hands through, and freckles dusted his face. It was also easy to forget just how much older he was, especially when he acted so much like a child.

"Maybe that's because I actually am a princess," Clarke offered.

Bellamy shook his head, "nope. It's all about your attitude."

"Whatever," Clarke scoffed. "I'm going to the library and then out for a ride."

Bellamy scanned her appearance lazily, making Clarke's cheeks burn. She was wearing pants and her tall riding boots with a simple green tunic, a far cry from what her mother always expected her to wear.

"Preparing yourself for this ball?" He asked, as he fell into step beside her as she walked toward the library.

"Yes," Clarke said sourly.

Bellamy laughed at her expression. "I'm sure you'll have fun, I know Octavia can't shut up about it."

"Yeah, fun," Clarke muttered.

\--

Clarke had wanted to speak with her mother, if she had to choose a future husband at this horrid ball, she wanted to be clear about her options.

"I can marry anyone I wish, correct?" Clarke asked.

Her mother studied her, going over the guest list in her head, "I don't suppose why not, as long as they are not already married."

Clarke grinned a relieved grin, "thank you, Mother."

"Of course," Abigail added, "as it's a masquerade ball, it may be hard for you to tell who people are."

"I am aware," Clarke said, "that's part of the fun, I suppose."

\--

"You want to tell me about this," Bellamy's voice interrupted her thoughts as he appeared at her side. They were alone in the hallway, luckily, or he could have gotten in trouble for speaking so freely with her.

Clarke glanced over to see what he was talking about, the cream invitation with gold lettering mocking her. "Oh, you got your invitation," she said, unsure as to what the problem was.

Bellamy shook his head, "no, this." He pointed to the letters and Clarke squinted to read the fancy print.

**You are hereby invited to attend Princess Clarke of Arcadia's eighteenth birthday party. Any men of eligibility are encouraged to try and win the Princess's hand in marriage.**

"They're selling you off like cattle?" Bellamy asked, sounding angrier than she'd ever heard him.

"I'm going to be queen," Clarke said with a shrug, "I need a king. I should just be thankful that I even have a say in the matter."

The dark look didn't leave Bellamy's face all day.

\--

In the last few days leading up to the ball, Clarke hadn't seen Bellamy. Though she'd been so busy going through last minute preparations she hadn't really had much time to see  _anybody_.

But today was the day of truth.

Her gown was beautiful, as well as the mask that hid the upper half of her face. Pale blues and silvers woven together so that the fabric of the dress seemed to move with life. It had no doubt cost a small fortune.

The ball had already started by the time she was supposed to arrive, catching everyone's attention as a guard helped her down the stairs. The ballroom was gorgeously decorated. It was the biggest celebration since the day Clarke had been born, the princess's coming of age party.

_Don't trip. Don't trip. Don't trip_ , Clarke chanted in her brain as she walked carefully down the long flight of steps into the ballroom.

"Princess Clarke of Arcadia," the guard said loudly, presenting her to the crowd. The guest applauded polity, and Clarke stepped off of the last step and onto the main floor.

The walls were lined with tables covered in the finest food imaginable, and waiters walked throughout the crowd with trays of the finest wines. Everywhere Clarke looked jewelry glistened, and masked faces grinned at her.

Music began to play as everyone began to prepare for the first dance of the evening. Already, Clarke's feet began to hurt from how her shoes pinched. This would be her first test, asking someone to dance. No doubt her choice would be the equivalent of a marriage proposal in her mother's (and many of the attendant's) eyes. However, before Clarke could so much as offer a man the chance to escort her to the dance floor, someone stepped in front of her and held out his hand.

It was a bold move, and Clarke could hear some gasps from around the room. Traditionally she should have been the one to ask him. But the man must have been a foreigner, as Clarke could not recall having seen him before.

He was obviously handsome, even if he was hidden behind a mask. He had broad shoulders and dark hair that had been slicked back.

"May I have this dance," he asked and his voice was so familiar, but Clarke couldn't place just where she had heard it before.

"Of course," she said, reaching forward to lace her thin, pale fingers through his. He led her out to the dance floor, through the waves of people dressed in brilliantly colored costumes. He was dressed in a fine black tunic and pants, his mask resembling some type of bird - perhaps a crow. It was dashing, though obviously not as well crafted as many others. Clarke's mask was simple swirls of silver and blue, more for decoration than actually hiding who she was.

Even without the introduction when she arrived, everyone would have known who the princess of Arcadia was.

Her partner proved to be a good dancer, leading her through some of the most complicated steps with grace.

The music came to a crashing stop, as people around the room finished the last steps of the dance. Her partner bowed, bringing her hand up to her lips.

"Thanks, Princess," he said with a smirk and recognition flashed at the familiar tone.

"Bellamy," Clarke said with a grin as the two of them exited the dance floor.

"Forget I was coming?" He asked with a grin, as he pulled her toward the large doors leading out to the courtyard.

"I knew your sister was coming, I didn't realize you were coming as well."

"As if I would let O come alone," Bellamy said, "besides," he added, "I had to have my chance to win the princess's heart, didn't I?"

"Bell," Clarke said, her voice coming out as little more than a murmur.

Bellamy glanced around to make sure they were alone in the courtyard, before he reached down and brushed his lips softly against Clarke's.

"I love you," he said softly, placing his forehead against hers. "I just had to tell you that."

Pushing the mask off of Bellamy's face, before pulling off her own, Clarke stood on her tiptoes to press another kiss to Bellamy's lips.

"I love you too."

\--

Clarke still had to make her normal rounds around the ballroom, dancing with everyone and tolerating their boring small talk. The only highlight was when she was able to steal away and meet Bellamy's sister, Octavia, who was practically bursting with joy at finally meeting the princess she had heard so much about.

Not long before midnight, her mother approached Clarke from where she was having a hushed discussion with Wells as she filled him in on the events of the evening.

"Clarke," Abigail started, "have you made you're decision yet?" The  _do I have to make the decision for you_ was left unspoken.

"Actually, yes," Clarke said with a grin, and her mother looked almost relieved. "His name is Bellamy Blake."

Her mother frowned, tilting her head, "I don't recognize the name. Are you sure he's from court?"

"Not exactly," Clarke muttered, but she pointed him out to her mother all the same.

"Isn't he a guard," her mother asked after watching Bellamy (who still hadn't put his mask back on) laughing with Octavia.

"Yeah," Clarke said with a shrug, "but he was invited to the ball and he came. You said I could marry anyone who was here."

Her mother frowned in displeasure, "I'm going to talk to your father about this."

Her father agreed and gave Clarke his permission to marry whoever she wanted.

\--

"I know this probably isn't exactly how you pictured your life," Clarke said to Bellamy, as the day they were going to announce their engagement to the rest of the kingdom.

On the other side of the room, Octavia was practically bouncing as she talked with a guard - Lincoln, Clarke remembered his name was.

Bellamy looked over to grin at Clarke, wrapping his hand around hers. "Married to a pretty girl, can't say I can complain, Princess."

"Does this mean I can call you Prince now?" Clarke asked, making Bellamy wrinkle his nose.

"That's horrible," he declared.

Clarke stood up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to Bellamy's lips, "what about husband?" She asked, her voice growing serious.

"I could get used to that," Bellamy responded, his voice low.

They were interrupted by Octavia rushing over to grin at them, "are you two ready? Lincoln says it's time."

Clarke and Bellamy shared a glance, "ready," Clarke said with a grin. Together, the two of them prepared to face the kingdom.


End file.
